


Pathways

by thorduna



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: 18th Century, Absent Parents, Alternate Universe - Historical, Awesome Frigga, Childhood Friends, Embarrassment, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Fluff, Forbidden Love, Laufey's A+ Parenting, M/M, Nature, Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 23:04:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5473817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thorduna/pseuds/thorduna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My <a href="http://stuckythorki.tumblr.com/">secret santa</a> gift for <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/emybailey">emybailey</a> ! </p><p>Loki comes home after he’s been gone for years, only to find an empty house and neighbours who are as friendly as they are peculiar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pathways

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Emilia676](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emilia676/gifts).



> Historical research? But of course! Do you know how many times I've read Jane Austen?
> 
> Hah, no, I'm sorry. I hope the fic is enjoyable.
> 
> Merry Christmas, [Emily](http://emilybailey6.tumblr.com/) !

The ride in the carriage, pulled by a single horse, has been excruciating and made the long hours that Loki has endured in the stagecoach seem like a pleasant stroll. Despite the early afternoon hour, it is growing dark already and Loki quietly gazes at the gloomy countryside.

 

Having been away for so long, he barely remembers his home. Now, freshly nineteen, with best marks from his boarding schools (all three of them, he would add, darkly) and with acceptance letter to Cambridge safely stored in his front pocket, he must return to the house of his father for the season. The child in him would rejoice, had it not be thoroughly expelled from him by all the years spent under the strict tutelage of strangers. As it is, little else but contempt remains when he notices the more familiar landmarks, that particular valley or an oak, larger than life, looming against the horizon on a tall hill.

 

And it is beginning to rain, because _of course_ it is.

 

The carriage slows, the driver pulling the horse back so it doesn't slip on the mud and Loki grits his teeth. If only _this_ part of the torment was done.

 

They continue at a slower pace and Loki rubs his glowed hands together as the temperature drops. Then, finally, the road curls against a large hill and begins a gentle descend only to curve up again when they come into the Midgard valley. The scenery opens up and Loki sees two houses, same as he remembers, standing on opposite sides, each on its own hill. Slowly, they climb up, the squeaking of mud giving way to crunching of pebbles as they near the entrance road. Just as they come to the gate, still a deal away from the house itself, but coming onto its grounds, the carriage comes to a rocky stop.

 

Loki can hear the driver halting the horse and he yanks the window open, looking out.

 

“What is it?”

 

Then he sees him, a man, an almost invisible figure in the dim light of the falling night. He is holding a small tin in his hand, along with something Loki doesn't recognize. The driver is talking to him, but Loki can't hear, and he snaps again, annoyed.

 

“What _is_ it?”

 

The man steps forward, out of the shadow of the gate and Loki can see him fractionally better. He is tall and strong, long blond hair tied back. His trousers are loose and dark, clearly a working man's gear, with a heavy brown jacket that opens in large lapels at his throat. Something that Loki would not even consider calling a tie is wrapped around it.

 

He gestures with the tin and speaks up in a surprisingly melodic voice. “It's for the hinges, sir. The rain is coming down heavy this time of year.”

 

“And you are standing in our way why?” Loki asks coldly, annoyed by the way the man is watching him, eyes so keen and sharp.

 

“I am not,” he replies, clearly amused and not at all apologetic. “I am merely greeting John here.”

 

Loki bangs at the ceiling of the carriage, silently fuming. “Driver,” he barks.

 

With a quick slap of the reins, the carriage starts moving again. As they pass underneath the gate, Loki looks stubbornly forward. But even so he can't help but see the lone figure standing outside from the corner of his eye.

 

He would be asking his father about  _that_ .

 

* * *

 

Soon he learns he cannot, in fact, ask his father.

 

Because his father isn't home. He asks the housekeeper to repeat herself twice when she shares the news upon his entrance.

 

His father has important business to attend and had to leave with his trade partner, Mr Borson. But everything is ready for Mr Loki's return and they have all been expecting him impatiently. Would he like to freshen up and then come downstairs for supper?

 

He gazes at the housekeeper, remembering her from his childhood and then looks to the two serving girls and a manservant who are probably too young to have been in service when he was still a child and are looking at him with polite smiles. There is nothing else to do but agree.

 

After the constant bustle of the boarding school, solitude is something he enjoys; in his bedroom most certainly, when bathing and changing as well, but supping alone is quite a morose situation, and awkward too, as the housekeeper – he now remembers her name is Enid – keeps talking to him despite standing next to the table, pausing her stream of words only to scold or guide the serving girl.

 

The food is delicious though and there is plenty of it and after a while, Loki starts simply ignoring her and eats until he is so full he thinks he won't make it upstairs. But despite that feeling, he doesn't say no to the cup of steaming hot mulled wine that is served to him in the study. Wine is not something he's had the chance to ever really enjoy freely and without interruption, so he savours it. As the hot liquid warms his already full stomach, he lets his head drop back and thinks that perhaps it is not so bad that father is away.

 

* * *

 

In the morning, he is not as sure. He feels slightly ill, though he suspects its more from the food and the tiring journey than the wine. He drinks some chamomile tea with his breakfast and soon feels better. As he is sipping his second cup, the manservant comes in with a letter.

 

“Is that for my father?” he frowns. He hopes that the servants aren't so badly taught as to give out the wrong correspondence. The manservant smiles blandly and shakes his head.

 

“No, for you, sir, it came from the Asgard house.”

 

Eyebrows still drawn, Loki takes up the envelope and opens it. The paper inside is soft and thick and the writing on it decidedly elegant.

 

_Dear Loki_

 

The familiar address is frankly baffling. He keeps reading.

 

_I was delighted to hear of your return. It has been so long! I am sure you were quite disenchanted with your father's absence and the empty house is hardly a place for a young man to spend time alone. Please, come join me for dinner or for tea – or whenever, and for however long it is convenient for you._

 

_Yours_

 

_Frigga Borson_

 

Oh. Of course. Loki relaxes slightly. While Odin Borson is nothing but a vague memory of one in many of the intimidating friends of his father that Loki was always just a bit too shy to be properly polite around, the memory of Frigga is far more pleasant and warm. With the closeness of their houses – and the lack of anything else in the near distance – it is understandable that they would be cordial. He folds the card back into the envelope and shrugs. Why not?

 

He finishes his chamomile and gets up. The manservant bows and is on his way out when-

 

“Wait,” Loki stops him. “Was the driver at the Asgard house yesterday? Or any of you?”

 

“No, sir, it was raining heavily and I do not believe any of us had any reason to visit the Borsons.”

 

“And this morning?”

 

The servant shakes his head and Loki dismisses him.

 

How precisely did Frigga know of his return last night? Of course she could have known he  _would_ be returning some of these days, but Loki only sent the word early the previous evening, when he was certain of the stagecoach taking him where it was meant to.

 

Most peculiar.

 

* * *

 

The stroll from the Jotunheim house to Asgard is beautiful. The weather has cleared overnight, leaving the grass wet and springy. The wind is still rather sharp and Loki is glad for his coat and scarf even as he deeply breathes in the clear, cold air.

 

He enters the Asgard grounds through a small gate at the back, which takes him through an apple orchard and into the garden. He knocks on the door rather uncertainly, thinking he possibly should walk around to the front and announce his presence more formally, but soon it seems he needn't have worried. The door is opened by a smiling old woman, who immediately welcomes him in and says they've been expecting him.

 

He takes off his coat as she fusses quite energetically around him, and as such he misses the entrance of the lady of the house.

 

“Loki!” she calls out. “How delightful to see you.”

 

He only has a second to take her in before she lightly embraces him and he terribly flushes, cheeks burning red. She probably notices, if the laughter and the pat she deposits on his hot cheek are any indication. She is a tall woman, with long hair of gold and silver, dressed in a lovely blue day gown.

 

“Come,” she takes him by the arm and leads him to the drawing room. “We have so much to catch up on.”

 

* * *

 

Even though Loki didn't initially agree with that assessment, he was proven wrong. Before he is able to finish his first cup of tea, what he would have thought to be an impossible amount of information and tales have been extracted from him.

 

But despite his mild apprehension, it is pleasant. The drawing room is bright and warm, though not overly so, and Frigga is a genuinely friendly companion.

 

There are several things bothering Loki. Firstly, it is his own clear unwillingness to remember details about Jotunheim and the neighbouring house, along with its inhabitants. And secondly, there is still the matter of Frigga being so well informed about his arrival.

 

There is a pause in conversation as Frigga pours him another cup of tea and during the rare moment of silence, a slight thud that Loki otherwise would not register rings through the room. Frigga lights up.

 

“Ah, finally. That boy is _constantly_ outside, I could not convince him to stay even this morning.”

 

Loki raises his eyebrows in question, but Frigga only waves her hand. “He will be here soon, I am sure. Even he knows better than not to change before coming in when I have guests.”

 

Just about ten minutes later, the door of the drawing room clicks open and Loki turns to see the new-comer.

 

His jaw drops, all manners completely forgotten.

 

It's... it's  _him_ . The worker from last night who had been oiling the hinges of Jotunheim's gate.

 

He could not look more different now though. Gone is the scruffy clothing of a commoner. In its place he wears smartly fitted dark blue trousers and a dark grey jacket, rather daringly open over a stark white shirt. His blond hair, clean and combed, is tied back again. And for the first time, Loki gets a proper look on his face, clearly of good breeding with strong jaw, light beard and bright, smiling blue eyes.

 

Loki slowly rises from his chair as he remembers himself and mechanically holds out his hand which is promptly squeezed in a firm, calloused grasp.

 

“Loki,” the man says, grinning with an edge to his smile. “What a pleasure to see you... again.”

 

“Pleasure is mine,” Loki replies stiffly. It seems that Frigga has noticed something is not right and she joins them gracefully.

 

“Thor said he saw your carriage last night, isn't that right, son?”

 

Loki lets out a quiet sigh of relief and silently gives thanks to her for her smooth manners. With that innocuous question, she spared him the embarrassment of having to ask who the young man joining them is, when he was clearly meant to know already.

 

He does remember now though. The blond, loud boy, a year or two older than himself.

 

“Yes, I did indeed,” Thor says, his smile wider than ever and Loki feels himself heat up in mortification again. “So, the Jotunheim heir returns. How was boarding school, Loki?”

 

* * *

 

Letters arrive to both Asgard and Jotunheim, letting them all know that Odin and Laufey have encountered an excellent trade opportunity and will be staying away for longer than expected in order to secure it.

 

They commiserate over the shared news, both letters opened on the table between tea cups and plates. Loki doesn't hide his annoyance from Frigga. The past week has seen him visiting Asgard almost daily, spending hours and hours in her company, and he is thoroughly convinced that she is a lovely and intelligent woman whose company would be rejected only by fools.

 

But he was not meant to come home to spend time with his neighbours, pleasant as their company might be.

 

He came at his father's request and now his father isn't there.

 

As per usual.

 

* * *

 

Thor comes home, freezing and longing for a good strong cup of tea – or something more potent even. He spent the day at a nearby farm, one that sits in the heart of his family's land, helping the farmer with sick sheep.

 

It doesn't surprise him to hear subdued voices coming from the salon. Loki dined with his mother, again.

 

Martha comes out to greet him and he asks her for a cup of mulled wine, striding to the salon on a whim.

 

He might as well amuse himself after the grim day he's had.

 

“Mother,” he greets, kissing her cheek and she wrinkles her nose. Thor knows it's only for show. If the stories are to be believed, she was wilder as a child than even him and the smell of animal doesn't really offend her.

 

The same probably can't be said for Loki who sits stiffly in his chair, a half full glass of whisky in his hand. He is wearing his customary black jacket, elegant and of a cut that Thor isn't used to seeing – it is undoubtedly way too modern for this part of the country. Underneath it is a flattering shirt of emerald green.

 

When Loki returned, Thor recognized him straight away, though he obviously wasn't treated to the same favour. Pale and dark-haired, with that pinched expression that made child-Thor tease him so much. Their meeting – as adults that is, when Loki returned from school – is still a source of amusement for Thor and clear embarrassment for Loki.

 

He sits down, throwing his heavy jacket to the back on a free sofa.

 

“Pardon his manners,” his mother says to Loki, but she is smiling fondly so Thor grins.

 

“There is nothing wrong with my manners, mother. I am simply a man slain by hard work.”

 

They both laugh while Loki smiles politely and Thor is sure he sees a disgusted tilt to his upper lip.

 

When Martha brings him his wine, he decides to take it as a challenge.

 

Some hours later, mother announces she is retiring, yawning subtly. Loki stands up, offering his goodbyes and Thor watches him, eyelids heavy with wine and exhaustion.

 

Tall and slim, hands soft, locking himself in dark clothing.

 

What an intriguing figure.

 

“Good night, mother,” he is saying soon. “I will walk Loki back home. It is late.”

 

A sharp breath is taken in behind his back and Thor smiles smugly, earning a subtle, chastising shake of head from his mother. But she tells him it is an excellent idea nonetheless.

 

* * *

 

“Between your mother sitting me at her drawing room daily, and your courteous escort, I have to wonder what exactly it is that you think men are taught at boarding schools,” Loki says bitingly as they step out into the cold air. It is not raining for once, but heavy clouds are rolling across the sky, snuffing out the stars. Thor is carrying a small lantern, squinting to see the pebbled pavement.

 

But now he glances at Loki, replying his sullen words in his head. He has seen Loki's whiskey glass refilled at least four times during the evening.

 

“Well, I do not know much about boarding schools,” he replies cheerfully. “But I do know that it is full of boys who are closed in together every minute of every day. Anything can happen, can it not?”

 

“ _What_? I meant- What is _that_ supposed to mean?” Loki has stopped cold and Thor has to turn around, rising the lantern a little to shine the light at him. He is gaping at him, mouth working in silent outrage, cheeks flushing red and Thor finds something terribly satisfying about it.

 

He steps closer, bringing his knuckles up to Loki's heated cheek and stroking it lightly.

 

“Why, sir, you even blush like a maiden. Were my words truly so mistaken?”

 

“I do not know what you were trying to say,” Loki says, tone lone and biting even as his face colours further. “Now either light the way and keep going or let me say my goodbyes.”

 

* * *

 

Loki stays away from Asgard for three days after that evening and Thor is sent out to call by his thoroughly impatient mother. He says nothing about the little conversation he's had with Loki of course. He shares many things with her, but his intrigue with the young man cannot be one of them.

 

He walks to the neighbouring house, looking up at the sky and gauging the pleasant weather; it can't last, of course. But for now it is lovely and it doesn't surprise him to find Loki in the garden behind the house. It is somewhat less cared for than the one in Asgard, but beautiful in its own way nonetheless.

 

Thor leans on the wall on the house, watching amusedly as Loki very slowly strolls about, reading from a small book. The path he is on curves but he keeps walking forward. Just as he is about to step on the grass and stumble, Thor pushes himself upright and calls out.

 

“Good day!”

 

Loki jerks and turns around, facing scrunching into a displeased expression that looks almost like a pout when he sees Thor.

 

“Good day,” he replies unenthusiastically. Thor walks over to join him, undeterred in the face of Loki's sour expression.

 

“I come on my mother's behalf, she is quite upset that you have stopped visiting,” Thor says, rather bluntly, and then smiles to soften his words. “And I wanted to apologize for my comments. As you have seen, I do not exactly spend my time in fine company, you and my mother excluded.”

 

Loki tilts his head to the side and watches Thor sharply. Thor bears the scrutiny calmly. “No, I suppose you do not. Rather you sneak around at night, making repairs on strangers' homes.”

 

Ah. So this still lies between them.

 

“I was not sneaking,” he shrugs. “The evening fell sooner than I anticipated and I had work yet to finish.”

 

“But _why_?” Loki presses on, a hint of exasperation lacing his words now, but Thor is enjoying this conversation. They are standing close, watching each other. “Why do you work on the farms, why do you do the repairs yourself?”

 

“Why not? It is my father's property and it will be mine. I will not sit idly when I have youth and strength to help.”

 

“Sit idly,” Loki repeats, tone icy. “I suppose that is what you think about me, yes, and my education? Sitting idly, letting others do the true labour?”

 

“I do not think that. And besides, I am not under the impression that you had any say in how you were to spend your young years.”

 

Thor can see Loki's lips parting and for a moment he thinks he has offended him again, but then Loki looks away and smiles strangely.

 

“No, indeed I did not.”

 

* * *

 

Their relationship changes after that conversation. Their worlds could not be more different, but instead of it keeping them apart, as it had during the first week or two of their adult acquaintance, it is now a shared opportunity to learn something new.

 

Now Loki grudgingly follows Thor, tugging at the sleeves of his borrowed coat and fidgeting in the heavy boots that Thor has loaned to him as well. It is early morning, barely after dawn – which is not as early is it might be, given the late season, and mist is rolling over the hills, wetting the hems of their trousers.

 

For Thor, there is not a moment more tranquil than this. He is sure his companion disagrees, but oddly enough he doesn't complain much and after ten minutes or so of fresh walk, he has even stopped yawning.

 

“Do they not rouse the students early, at boarding school?” he asks when Loki catches up to him and falls into step with him.

 

“Oh, they do,” Loki chuckles. “But that does not mean I ever really became content in such state of things.”

 

He sighs and then goes on. “I must admit that a walk in the clear morning air is much better for my morning disposition than eating sludgy breakfast in a stinking dining room and then being locked in the classroom.”

 

Thor is surprised. “So there was no exercise in the morning? No other tasks than sitting in class?”

 

“No,” Loki smiles, glancing at Thor.

 

Thor gestures as the sprawling land before them. “Here, you must rise when the animals do. You must use all your daylight as well for many tasks.”

 

“Direct daylight was rather rare to me,” Loki admits. “We used candles a great deal.”

 

Thor hums and they walk in silence, both lost in thought, turning the newly shared information in their heads. Thor's bafflement is growing. Laufey and his father are of almost equal status and wealth, though his mother's family brings a bit more distinguishement to their line. But he and Loki were both born at the same patch of land. They could have led similar lives, but they did not.

 

And oddly, with each passing day, Thor finds the difference more appealing.

 

* * *

 

They bid their good byes to the farmer with several hours of daylight still remaining. If Thor were alone, he would have stayed longer, but the farmer and his wife are grateful nonetheless. Loki has been very polite to them, clearly committed to whatever Thor wanted to show him once he made the choice to go along and Thor appreciates it, grinning at Loki as soon as they are far enough from the farm.

 

“So, sir, how has your experience been?” he teases and Loki snorts, shaking his head at him.

 

“Dirty and smelly.” Then he pauses. “But very enlightening. Thank you.”

 

The thank you catches Thor by surprise and he stares for a while, before Loki clears his throat subtly to remind Thor of his rudeness. Thor hurriedly turns his gaze into the grass beneath his feet.

 

Enlightening indeed.

 

* * *

 

Loki's feet have already taken a fair share of abuse that day; he is not sure why he worsens his state by pacing. His bedroom is elegantly and comfortably furnished, a well-lit fire is cracking in the fireplace. By all reason he should sit down and relax after a day in the outdoors, warm his limbs, perhaps read and then go to bed early.

 

But there is a sense of agitation driving him into restlessness and he has no name for it, he only knows it does not allow him to rest.

 

What life has he been robbed off? Where is his childhood spent running across those hills that he is only now becoming reacquainted with?

 

A sudden surge of hatred for his father runs through him, flooring him. He has not felt it with such intensity since he was a little boy, sniffing underneath a thin blanket in a room full of other boys.

 

But there is something else beneath that, a warming memory. A feeling of... can it be acceptance? Why should he strive to be accepted by this place? His family is not here. His mother, buried so long ago... and his father, ever absent and cold. He moves without thought, coming to stand by the window, looking across the valley at the Asgard house. Several windows in the upper floor are illuminated, undoubtedly Lady Frigga's and Thor's rooms, along with what Loki knows to be the kitchen downstairs where their housekeeper and cook and servants must be having their dinner.

 

Fingers curling into fists, he shakes his head and then reaches to pull the curtains resolutely shut.

 

* * *

 

He is having breakfast, sipping coffee with a degree of interest in the beverage, and reading newspaper that was delivered the day before, when he hears the front door opening and some muffled voices following it. He frowns, but before he can make the decision to go and investigate, the door to the sitting room is opening and Thor is striding in rather unceremoniously, throwing himself onto the armchair opposite of Loki with a pout curling his bottom lip.

 

There is water dripping from the ends of his hair and the collar of his shirt seems to be damp as well. He must have taken off his jacket before coming into the room as Loki is sure it had to be soaked through.

 

“Well, good morning. Come in and have a seat,” Loki sighs.

 

“Oh, do not start,” Thor huffs, reaching to pour himself a cup of coffee as well. “My mother is ill-”

 

Loki straightens up, opening his mouth. Thor notices and deflates in his seat. “Please, do not worry. I would not be so callous if it was serious. It is merely that she absolutely insisted I do not keep her company while at the same time forbidding me to do my usual work with all that rain.”

 

“Well, the patient's needs must be listened to,” Loki says, attempting to keep his voice and expression perfectly flat. The sharp looks Thor gives him tells him he has not succeeded.

 

“Oh, you mock me now. But wait until she sends a note tomorrow that you can come visit.”

 

Loki smiles briefly. “Are you certain I should not visit her now? Or at least send a note?”

 

“You can send a note, that can do no harm. I believe Elis should be coming to help Martha out with sewing today anyway, so you might give it to her.”

 

Loki makes no mention of Thor's intimate knowledge of his own servants' coming and going.

 

“So, what shall we do with ourselves?” Loki asks, reclining in his chair. “You, having been exiled by your gentle mother from your house, the weather keeping us locked in...”

 

“I am sure we will find something presently,” Thor murmurs into his coffee. Loki watches him carefully. It is rather rare to find Thor sitting still, more so when it is not in the evening. He is a large man and while his dress today is not the rough clothing he wears when making his rounds around the land, it is well worn, though fitted to his broad frame very well. The damp shirt clings to his shoulders, the breadth of them stretching the material. Unaware of Loki's scrutiny, he reaches out and pulls a thin black ribbon from his hair, running his fingers through the wet locks.

 

“Would you like a change of clothing?” Loki blurts out.

 

Thor rolls his shoulders and pats at himself, apparently assessing how wet he's gotten. “No, thank you. But perhaps a towel...?”

 

There is a bell right besides the coffee tray. It would make sense for Loki to ring it and have one of the serving girls bring it for his guest. So why he is suddenly rising to his feet, he cannot be sure. He can feel Thor's surprised gaze at his back as he leaves the room. It is only a sliver of memory that helps him locate the linen closet, but he finds it quickly and soon has a soft cotton towel, beautifully folded and smelling of lavender in his hands. He is creasing the fabric by how hard he is gripping it.

 

He closes the door carefully behind himself back in the sitting room. Thor remains in his seat, his elbows on his knees, fingers laced together underneath his chin. He looks deep in thought and doesn't move when Loki approaches, only following his movements with his eyes.

 

Loki steps behind his chair and shakes the towel out before placing it on Thor's shoulders, smoothing it out with his palm and then reaching beneath it to wrap Thor's long, wet hair in his hand and pull it out, spreading it on top of the cloth to dry. Then he gives Thor's shoulders a parting squeeze. The walk back to his chair is precarious – he feels dizzy with how inappropriate he's just been.

 

“Thank you,” Thor says quietly, his eyes boring into Loki with burning intensity. Loki is reminded of the night they met, how imposing and dark Thor's figure had been, standing on the side of the road, his eyes looking deep inside Loki's.

 

An apology is on the tip of his tongue, but he forces it back, instead meeting Thor's gaze. The tense silence lasts long minutes and is only broken by Enid coming in to collect the coffee cups.

 

She is clearly delighted that Thor is present, to an almost insulting level as she overlooks Loki in his favour, but Loki is deep in thought, paying no mind to the conversation they are having.

 

He feels he has crossed a line that has confined him his entire life without him even noticing.

 

But now he sees it and his fingers are itching to smash it into pieces.

 

* * *

 

Thor stays for most of the day. Loki pens out a get-well note for Frigga, sending the serving girl Elis to Asgard with it. Then he and Thor play cards, the tension between them easing as they exchange barbs over the games they play, both competitive to a fault, but it never quite goes away.

 

Supper is served and Thor remains. Loki has only ever supped with Thor when Frigga was present as well and he openly laughs at Thor's slacking manners as he polishes off the contents of his plate.

 

“Why Mr Thor, I shall give my compliments to the cook. I would recommend you do it yourself, but I see you cannot with your mouth stuffed full.”

 

“Mr Loki,” Thor replies once he can speak again, his voice even and only the brightness in his eyes showing that he is joking. “You must forgive me, for my passion for your potatoes has overwhelmed me. They are delicious, as I know well for I have helped plant them.”

 

Loki looks at his own plate, staring at the yellow spheres drenched in butter. So the vegetable is from the farms on Loki's land, or rather, his father's land. He did not know. And Thor was there, helping. Loki can almost imagine it, the sweet air of early spring. The never-ending circle of growing things. Loki's own time was divided by exams and learning and-

 

“I do not know what I said that made your mood turn that way, but I am sorry.”

 

Loki's head snaps up and he feels himself flushing. Thor is watching him with a twist to his brow, clearly apprehensive.

 

“You have done nothing wrong.” Then he smiles weakly. “Save for exposing me to your atrocious manners of course.”

 

* * *

 

Considering the twists and turns that the conversation – and the atmosphere – between them had taken through the span of single day, it is probably decidedly unwise to sit in the salon with a large bottle of whiskey at the ready.

 

Enid brings it to them, along with a platter of small salty morsels of all kinds, including a cheese platter and then Loki sends her, and the rest, to bed, insisting that he and Mr Thor will manage on their own.

 

At a certain point, Loki's thoughts – and later memories – become hazy. The bottle is emptied and Loki insists that his father must have a special bottle hidden somewhere. It makes little sense, but they find themselves upstairs in the attic, looking through dusty remnants of the past. Loki stumbles, Thor is there to keep him upright and then he is in his own bed, feeling like he is floating, only the warm palm that is cupping his cheek and the weight of a strong arm that is pushing him down are keeping him grounded.

 

* * *

 

He is of course terribly embarrassed the next day when Lady Frigga recovers and he cannot come visit her, since he is the one shivering in bed, stars of pain exploding behind his eyes.

 

He makes up for it the next day, apologizing profusely as she smiles indulgently at him. Thor is nowhere to be seen, which may not be surprising during the day, but when he doesn't join them for supper, Loki grows worried. Has he said or done something to insult Thor? The worry gnaws on him and he becomes rudely absent-minded to his hostess, who then promptly shoos him away, laughing at his blush.

 

Loki steps out of the back door of the house, taking a deep breath of the crisp evening air. It is dark out, but he is by now so familiar with the path from Asgard to Jotunheim that he doesn't mind.

 

At least until he passes between the apple trees in the orchard and walks straight into something solid.

 

He yelps, stumbling back, but then there are arms around his shoulders, steadying him.

 

“Thor,” Loki breathes. “I did not see you there.”

 

“I know,” Thor chuckles. He has not yet let go of Loki, holding him in something that closely resembles an embrace and Loki's heart speeds up.

 

He is so lost.

 

What are they doing?

 

“I...” he tries, but then only gulps nervously, no words coming forward. Thor is so close, he can feel the warmth of his body contrasting to the chill of the night. An earthy, pleasant sort of musk fills Loki's nostrils and he shifts without thought, leaning closer. He can barely see Thor's face, only the roughest estimation of his features and he is different again. Not the pleasant young man that Loki has come to care for despite their differences, not the rough worker who lends his hands to the needs of the land that will one day belong to him.

 

No, this Thor feels even closer to Loki. Somebody who might truly understand him. A man with the same wants that Loki has.

 

He cannot help it. He rises one hand, dragging it between the narrow gap between their bodies, taking great care not to push Thor away. Then he palms his cheek the same way he _almost_ remembers Thor doing to him two nights prior.

 

A rush of breath escapes him when his fingers come to contact with the bearded side of Thor's face. He drags the tips through the bristles until they find the hot softness of Thor's lips. The warmth that gusts across his fingers tells him that Thor has mirrored his own excited exhale and this spurs him into action. He snatches his fingers back and leans forward, closing his eyes. His lips brush Thor's cheek first and then find their goal. They kiss with a hesitant tremble running down Loki's spine.

 

* * *

 

The kiss knocks the sense out of Thor. Ever since his intrigue with his young neighbour grew into something forbidden, he has believed that he would have to be the one to take the step forward, into something unknown but beautiful. Instead, Loki is already there, exchanging the hesitant touch of his fingers for a kiss that feels almost bold, if a bit clumsy.

 

And it's beautiful, the heat pulsing through Thor's veins, the excitement and pleasure that envelops him as Loki parts his lips for him and Thor slips inside, taking charge of the moment. He wanted to do this the very night he spent with Loki at Jotunheim, there in the attic where he remembered they used to play as children and where Loki was hotly laughing into his ear, breath spicy with whiskey, leaning into him, and then when Thor steered him into bed, reason still holding him firmly in its grasp despite the liquor he drank. The same couldn't be said for Loki and it was endearingly frustrating as he resisted Thor's attempts to get him to sleep, hands roaming all over Thor's chest, grin spreading his flushed cheek. It was almost impossible to resist the invitation in his hooded, green eyes, but Thor did and it's good he did, he thinks as he kisses him now, the both of them aware and wide awake in the cold night air.

 

Loki pulls off, but his hands remain clutching Thor's collar.

 

“This is impossible,” he breathes and Thor just laughs.

 

“I know,” he replies. “But it does not matter.”

 

Loki begins stroking Thor's face again, leaning in close to peer into his eyes. Thor does not know what he searches for.

 

“This is what you do, is it not?” Loki murmurs and brushes his lips against Thor's. “You live freely. Honestly.”

 

“I... I try,” Thor says, a bit confused. He pulls Loki closer, gasping when their bodies come together, the embrace firm and warming.

 

“I am meant to leave in less than two months,” Loki says abruptly, his voice rising in volume and Thor's heart sinks. No... they've only just- “Show me everything there is before that time.”

 

Then he takes a deep breath as Thor stands, reeling with unexpected pain. “Convince me to stay.”

 

A startled laugh escapes Thor and he leans his forehead against Loki's. “Oh, you are a...”

 

Recovered from the shock and fear of losing what he has just so fickly gained, Thor kisses Loki again, already beginning the quest given to him. To convince Loki that there is no better life than out here, following the rhythm of seasons, far from everything that brings loneliness.

 

He knows he will succeed.

 

After all, he is a man who does not shy away from the challenge of hard work.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.
> 
> See the accompanying post/gifset [here](http://thorduna.tumblr.com/post/135571705150/pathways-a-thorloki-fic-stuckythorki-secret).


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